


Vespers

by LorettaFryingPan



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Spoilers for episodes 26+27, episode coda, minor appearances by other characters - Freeform, spoilers for campaign 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 17:59:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15442698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LorettaFryingPan/pseuds/LorettaFryingPan
Summary: Beau finds a small, unexpected shrine in Shady Creek Run





	Vespers

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I'm back! I've been slogging through some serous hand problems and a whole lot of stuff happening in my life, but episode 27 lit a fire under my ass and I was inspired like I haven't been in ages.
> 
> Beau is a blast to write, and I am going to sincerely miss her and Molly's dynamic.

 

It's a long walk back to The Landlocked Lady, but there are still things to be done in the wake of that _thoroughly_ upsetting recon mission. Champ, that creep, is working the desk when they get back but thankfully keeps his comments to himself when they pay for two rooms but all file into one.

Keg is sketching out vague blueprints of the Sour Nest with Nila's help, Caleb is still recovering from talking for ten whole minutes back at the Estate Sybaritic, and Nott is naturally glued to his side while he flips vacantly through his spellbook. Aside from the occasional whispers, none of them speak. Beau, meanwhile, can barely focus on anything. The room, already cramped with the five of them packed into it, feels almost claustrophobically small. Every sound, from Keg’s whispering to the scratching of quill against paper, feels like it’s being carved into her eardrums with a chisel. So with as little movement as possible Beau stands, throws her cloak over one arm, and steps out of the room. A quick glance over her shoulder shows her that Nott is the only one to notice her departure. She watches Beau walk out, but doesn't acknowledge her with anything more than a barely-there nod of the head.

It's probably shitty of her, to be walking off alone after everything that's happened and while there’s still so much to do, but if she doesn’t get a breath of fresh air and thirty seconds of silence she is going to crawl out of her fucking _skin_. Hopefully the obvious presence of her pack left behind conveys that this is just a stroll; that she’ll be careful, that she fully intends to come back.

Like intent means _anything_ these days.

She sniffs, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her cloak as she puts it on in the foyer. The cold weather has been vicious on her sinuses, used as she is to the southern climes of Kamordah and Zadash. Or at least, that's what she tells herself to keep her face stern as she walks through Shady Creek.

This place is an absolute disaster, and Beau has seen some terrible shithole towns and some seedy goddamn underbellies. There’s more than a few people passed out or straight-up dead in the gutter, garbage and food refuse is scattered everywhere, and the whole place smells vaguely of blood and dry rot. It does very little to alleviate her mood, and briefly she wonders if she’s going to feel like this - discontented, like she pulled a muscle in her soul - forever, if this is just her life now. No. That’s bullshit. She’s been through hell before and come out swinging; she can do it again this time. She doesn’t know when she’s gonna come out the other side, but she will. At least she’s not alone this go-round.

She walks a few blocks, but the sights don’t get any less depressing or disheartening. She doesn’t feel quite as penned-in as before, but now that her head is clearer the jagged, rusty edges of the town loom even sharper. With every step she’s further and further convinced that this little walk was a mistake, but something keeps her putting one foot in front of the other. It feels less like she’s running away and more like she’s walking _towards_ something, which makes no fucking sense but feeling like she has some sort of goal is leagues better and she’ll chase that feeling anywhere.

Eventually her feet lead her to a small stone building, set apart from the others. It’s somewhere between a shed and hut in size, made of brick in places and large un-worked stones in others, painted a uniform grey. Despite how ramshackle it is, it doesn’t carry the same air that the rest of the buildings in town do. There’s something about it that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

One step closer becomes two, becomes five, and she sees the metal raven skull set into the door, the bundles of dried flowers set at the doorstep and that feeling suddenly makes sense. This is a temple. The Matron of Ravens is an interesting choice to have in the middle of town, but not necessarily odd.

It takes her a second, however, to realize it's not a temple to the Matron of Ravens. Painted copper coins have been nailed around the doorframe, which Beau only notices when she gets closer, showing that this small building is dedicated to her Champion instead. The coins are precisely spaced, and not a single one is missing, surprisingly. Huh. Apparently there are some things in Shady Creek that are sacred. Or maybe it’s fear of divine reprisal, but either works. Still, that’s a motif that people only use when praying to him, rather than his queen.

Beau knows the folktales, and her connections with the Cobalt Soul means she knows which ones are true. She's heard all about the Champion of the Lost, the guardian of souls, the knight who sits at the Matron’s right hand. While she holds total dominion over death, it is his charge to see the souls of the deceased safely to her embrace. He comforts the recently dead, and prevents them from becoming restless, haunted spirits. Beyond that the information is fuzzy, protected by the higher echelons of the order. She knows how he used to be a mortal servant of the Lady of Fates a couple decades ago, but that’s about it. She doesn’t know when people started worshiping him or why, but there seems to be some substance to it, at least. If nothing answered the prayers, people probably wouldn’t pray anymore. Given who he serves, worship of him isn’t prohibited in the Empire, per se, but it’s not exactly the safest of propositions to have a temple exclusively dedicated to him like this one.

It makes sense, in a weird sort of way. Town like this, there’s probably a lot of people who want to make sure their souls aren’t left to wander.

Pushing the door open to the tinkling of chimes, Beau pokes her head in. There’s no one else in the space, so she steps in and shuts the door behind her. The temple is clean, with a couple of low benches and a small, if well appointed, altar. While there isn’t a whole lot of ambient light to come in through the windows in the first place, what does come through is filtered by gauzy curtains, creating a sense of dusk.

The temple smells of dry stone, smoke, and lavender. Off against the wall she can see a black iron censer and the low glow of the coals inside it. It’s such a small thing, but that gentle herbal scent reminds her so profoundly of Molly that she cracks for the second time in three days, stumbling before the small altar and falling to her knees to cry. The slender statue of a half-elven man with great black wings looks quietly down as the pain bleeds out of her.

Was he there, when Molly passed? The stories said he could fly faster than thought, was he quick enough that Molly didn’t wake up somewhere alone _again_?

She’s not exactly sure how much time passes, but it’s not too long before her tears have run their course and she pulls herself up to sit heavily on the bench nearest the altar.

“Listen up, you asshole,” she says, pointing an indignant finger at the statue. The figure of the Champion is carved from stone and painted with an almost loving amount of detail. “You look after him, alright? We’re gonna do our damndest to get him back, but you make sure to keep him company for now. He’s obnoxious, but he’s one of the good ones. One of the few really good ones.”

Praying has never been one of her strong suits-she’d never really needed it before the monastery, and the Cobalt Soul was more interested in serving Ioun through deeds than venerating her at all hours. Maybe calling him an asshole wasn’t the greatest idea, but it’s all she has. The statue is smiling - smirking, more like - so he’s probably the sort of entity to take that kind of talk in stride.

She sets her face in her hands, sighing. “Tell him we miss him,” she says, voice muffled.

There’s no one else in the temple-she checked when she walked in, and the chimes hung from the door have stayed silent, but she feels someone sit down beside her and put an arm over her shoulders. She catches a waft of that rich incense Molly was so fond of, and hears, behind her, the faint sound of creaking leather armor.

The feeling is gone as quickly as it comes, and Beau lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Suddenly the small temple feels barren and unwelcoming. She’s had her moment of quiet, and now the thought of that cramped room is an appealing one. She doesn’t want to be alone now.

She takes some of her last pocket bacon and sets them in the offering dish at the foot of the statue for the Champion. The dead don’t need food, and the gods need it even less, but it feels right.

“Thanks,” she says, and stalls at the door for a moment or so, unsure if there’s anything she’s supposed to be doing, before simply walking away.

She makes her way back through the streets of Shady Creek Run with a keen eye on her surroundings. The only thing she misses is the large black bird that flies behind her, keeping watch the whole way.

**Author's Note:**

> Much love to Ryan for catching my errors and patiently fielding all of my inanities. You're the best <3
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you liked it, say hey! I'm here, and lorettafryingpan/djinn-and-djuice on tumblr! <3


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